The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love

by Beth Pattillo

  He opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something to her across the space that divided them, and then another church member caught his sleeve and he turned away.

  Camille sank back onto the pew and refused to acknowledge the disappointment that swamped her. Anticlimactic. That’s what Eugenie would have called the moment. And now she had to sit for the next hour with Dante firmly in her sights. Not that she was much good at concentrating on the sermon under the best of circumstances, but she would never get anything out of the service now.

  “Mind if I sit with you?” a voice at her elbow said.

  Camille turned to see Eugenie standing in the aisle. Surprised, she nodded and scooted over so the librarian could sit down.

  “Aren’t you supposed to sit on the front row?” Camille whispered to Eugenie as the organist began the prelude. The soft opening music was meant to provide a time for quiet reflection, but that was the last thing Camille was capable of at the moment.

  Eugenie pursed her lips. “I prefer to sit farther back, with someone I know, rather than alone on the front row.”

  Camille smothered a smile. Eugenie’s adjustment to the role of preacher’s wife couldn’t be easy. At least that’s what Camille’s mother had told her.

  The thought of her mother washed away the smile that played at the edge of her mouth. Camille’s own church attendance had been spotty at best during her mother’s lengthy illness, especially once her mother couldn’t leave the house. To tell the truth, she didn’t know why she’d come today, except that she hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do. Not that long ago she’d been sitting at her mother’s bedside, reading to her while she was awake, knitting while she slept. The medical supply company had yet to come and retrieve the large hospital bed that had occupied the living room for so long, and Camille couldn’t bring herself to sit in the room alone all day staring at it. So she’d come to church, looking for—what? Comfort? Escape? Certainly not Dante Brown. If Eugenie hadn’t sat next to her, she could have slipped out of the service early.

  The next hour passed with unbearable slowness. The moment the organist struck the first notes of the recessional, Camille was up and out of the pew, squeezing around Eugenie. She made a beeline for the door, leaving the bewildered librarian in her wake.

  “Camille, wait,” a masculine voice called.

  She descended the steps outside the sanctuary and pretended she hadn’t heard him. Her well-worn pumps clattered as she went. Quick as she was, though, she was no match for Dante, even with his bum knee.

  “Camille!”

  Other parishioners turned toward him, watching with great interest. It was too late to escape. She stopped and pivoted slowly, as if her interest in the person hailing her was so vague she couldn’t put much energy into the movement of her body.

  “Camille.” He said her name again as he moved toward her, stopping less than two feet in front of her. She had to look up to meet his gaze and could only pray that her face was as expressionless as she could make it.

  Oh, Dante. Hello. “I thought that was you.” Knew it was you. Felt it was you. She clutched the strap of her purse below where it rested on her shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You too.” He looked around, as if assessing how many eager ears were in the immediate vicinity. Plenty, Camille could have told him, and every one anxiously awaiting their next words. “Can I walk you to your car?” he asked.

  “I didn’t drive,” she said and then stopped. She knew at once she’d made a tactical error.

  “Neither did I,” he said. “Why don’t I walk you home?”

  Such a simple question on the surface, but the murky emotional waters below threatened to drag her down.

  “Um—” How could she refuse? He was nothing more than a former classmate, an old friend who had come back to town. But they both knew that his request went far beyond a desire to catch up or reminisce. Every member of the Sweetgum Christian Church still congregated on the steps would watch them leave together. By midafternoon, their actions would be common knowledge.

  “All right,” she finally said, if only as a means of escaping the scrutiny of her fellow church members. She cringed at how ungracious she sounded, but she couldn’t afford to encourage him. One inch equaled one mile to Dante Brown, and there were a lot of inches between the church and her house.

  They headed north on Spring Street, away from the center of town. It’s only a ten-minute walk, Camille told herself. You can make meaningless conversation for that long. But forming words proved difficult with Dante beside her. The width of his shoulders seemed to take up more than his half of the sidewalk, and she would have sworn there was less oxygen in the air around him. He had to duck the low-hanging branches, and he motioned her ahead of him when the concrete roughened into jagged crumbles where tree roots had displaced the path.

  “I’m surprised you’re still here,” he said after several long moments of silence. “You were so set on leaving.”

  So he didn’t know. She shrugged her shoulders. “Things don’t always work out like you plan.” The understatement of the year. The decade.

  He stumbled, his foot catching on a crack in the sidewalk, and when he straightened, she saw him wince in pain.

  “Are you okay?”

  He scowled, frustrated to be caught showing any sign of weakness, she knew Dante certainly hadn’t changed in that regard.

  “I’m fine. My knee…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

  “I saw it. The hit you took. I saw it on television.”

  “The only people who didn’t live at the South Pole.” His scowl deepened. With his face looking like a thundercloud, he was more unsettling than ever.

  “It still bothers you?”

  He smiled then, that wide, infectious grin that had charmed Sweetgum women of all ages. “Only when I’m chasing after a beautiful girl.”

  Camille flushed and hated herself for doing it. Dante’s charm was never subtle, but it was nonetheless effective.

  “Dante—”

  He raised a hand to interrupt her. “Sorry, Cammie. I didn’t mean any disrespect. To your mother, I mean.” He paused as if searching for the right words. “I guess I’m supposed to say that I’m sorry she’s gone, but sometimes it’s a blessing to let people go. Especially when they’ve been in pain for so long.”

  Camille looked up at him, startled by his unexpected words. So he did know after all. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, sometimes it’s a blessing.” A cruel, bitter blessing, but a blessing nonetheless.

  “How are you doing?” he asked as they resumed walking. They were on her street now, only a few houses from her front door. If she could just get through the next few minutes, she would be okay. Their first meeting would be over, and she could put him out of her head and go about the rest of her day.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Hmm.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “Really” The breeze blew a strand of hair in her eyes, and she pushed it back behind her ear. “I don’t know why people look like they don’t believe me when I say that.”

  “Maybe people don’t believe you because you don’t look fine. You look terrible.”

  Well, he’d definitely turned off the charm. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  His hand caught her arm. They stopped at the walk that led to her front door. “That doesn’t mean I don’t still think you’re the prettiest girl in town.” His smile was softer now, less charming but more sincere.

  “Dante—”

  “I’m just saying.” He let go of her arm, and she missed the warmth of his hand against her skin. “What are you doing Friday night?” he asked.

  “Friday night?”

  “The football game. I need all the fans I can get.”

  “I haven’t been to a football game in years.” She’d spent Friday nights, like almost every other night, at her mother’s bedside. Except for the one night a month she went to the Knit Lit Society.

 
“You should come. It’s gonna be a good game. Rivertown’s our second-best rival.”

  The first was Chapel Grove from the next county over. Their senior year, Dante had scored five touchdowns against them and cemented his status as a football legend.

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure about my plans yet.”

  “Plans? In Sweetgum?” Dante chuckled. “Come to the game, and then I’ll take you out for dinner after. Tallulah’s is staying open late.”

  “The café always closes by nine.”

  Dante shook his head. “Not anymore. I convinced Tallulah that if she kept the café open later on Friday night, I’d fill it with customers for her.”

  “The Dante Brown charm already at work,” Camille said, smiling in spite of herself. “You’ll have this whole town rearranged by the end of the month.”

  “Nah. Won’t take me that long.”

  The teasing light in his eyes, the ease of his stance, and the gleam of his perfect teeth against his dark skin drew Camille to him. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. Like a sad, pitiful moth to a flame. Only she knew, as everyone did, that the moth always got the worst end of that deal.

  “So you’ll come to the game?”

  “Maybe.”

  Her response wasn’t exactly gracious, but it lit a spark of triumph in Dante’s eyes. “It’ll be like old times. You cheering me on. Maybe you could wear that little cheerleader skirt—”

  “Jerk.” But she was laughing. She pushed him in the chest, just below his shoulder, like a high school girl flirting with her boyfriend. And she realized she suddenly felt young again. Not so weighed down. As if the weekend were a time to look forward to, not dread.

  “I can’t pick you up because I’ll be with the team. But if you can get a ride, I’ll bring you home after dinner.”

  She was making a date with Dante Brown, Camille realized with a start. He hadn’t been back in her life half a day, and already she was doing exactly what she’d sworn not to.

  “Maybe it would be better—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, he laid a finger against her lips. A minimum of contact with maximum effect on her nervous system.

  “I can’t think of anything that would be better than having dinner with you after the game.” He stepped away. “And I’m leaving right now, before you change your mind.” He looked at her for a long moment, and Camille felt the power of his gaze from her head to her toes. She was playing with fire, but oh, how wonderful to feel warm again after all these years.

  “See you later, Cammie.”

  “Good-bye, Dante.”

  He shook his head. “Not good-bye. Good-byes are for endings.” He winked. “We’re just getting started.”

  He turned and walked down the street, whistling. Camille stood rooted to the spot. What had she done? She would regret it later. Of course she would. And if she thought the town rumor mill was cranking now, wait until she showed up with him on Friday night at Tallulah’s.

  But as unpleasant as being the subject of local gossip might be, she couldn’t regret agreeing to see him. She’d wondered for a long time what might have happened if she hadn’t been so afraid of him in high school. She’d wondered if her whole life might have turned out differently. Maybe he would have taken her with him—to college and on to the pros. Or maybe he would have dumped her before graduation, broken her heart, and left her in Sweetgum, even lonelier than she was now.

  At the last meeting of the Knit Lit Society, Eugenie had wanted to know their definition of love. And she’d said quickly enough that to her love meant doing things for other people. But she hadn’t told the complete truth. Because secretly, in her heart of hearts, she knew that love meant opening up her entire being to another person, a person who, like her father, could walk away and destroy her all over again. Or like her mother, who wouldn’t want to leave, but wouldn’t have any choice in the matter.

  Standing on the sidewalk in front of her house, Camille wondered if she would ever have the courage or the faith to love someone that way again.

  Maria had almost refused to attend the covered dish dinner that Sunday evening at the church, but her older sister, Daphne, had persuaded her to relent.

  “If you don’t go, I’ll be forced to run interference between Mama and Mrs. Emerson by myself. And I’d really like to enjoy the evening a little.”

  Daphne rarely resorted to guilt, and the overbearing Mrs. Emerson was sure to antagonize their mother, so Maria couldn’t help but give in. Daphne had no idea just how effective her strategy was. In the almost two weeks since Maria had signed the papers to begin the sale of the farm, she’d continued to put off telling her mother and sisters the truth. Better to let them continue in ignorant bliss for as long as possible. But Daphne’s gentle guilting—

  Maria didn’t stand a chance against that. So just before six o’clock she found herself climbing from the backseat of her mother’s yacht of a Cadillac. She leaned back in the car and retrieved the casserole dish with its thermal cover. The strong smell of tuna and cream of mushroom soup clashed with the pine scent of the car’s air freshener. Thankfully, the ride to the church was a short one.

  “Maria. You came after all.” Annabeth Logan, Maria’s closest friend, hurried across the small parking lot toward her. She, too, carried a casserole dish. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

  “Daphne worked her mojo on me.”

  “I wish I had her touch.” Annabeth was as petite as Maria was tall. Her plump figure showed her love of children—she had three—as well as her fondness for baked goods. Annabeth and her family ran the bakery on the town square next door to the five-and-dime. “We’d better get moving or we’ll be late.”

  Maria nodded in agreement, but her feet felt like lead as they approached the rear of the church and the double glass doors that led to the fellowship hall. Daphne and her mother disappeared inside the building, surrounded by a gaggle of other church ladies.

  Church suppers invariably followed the same pattern. The older ladies clucked like hens, shifting dishes on the three tables laid end to end until the twenty-four feet of food resembled the messianic banquet. Fifteen minutes after the meal was supposed to begin, the preacher would finally get everyone to quiet down so he could say the blessing. And then the older men, who had been lining up for the last half hour, would descend on the casseroles and side dishes and salads like locusts on a field of grain. The women and children would make do with conversation and whatever the men left behind.

  After handing off her casserole to a pair of eager hands, Maria scanned the fellowship hall for her mother and sister. Annabeth, her hands also free now, joined her.

  “Look There’s an empty table in the back. Let’s save some seats.”

  Maria nodded in agreement, and they threaded their way across the room.

  “Where are your kids?” Maria asked as they turned sideways in the narrow aisle to allow Henry Hale to pass. The church organist was almost as broad as he was tall, so they had to squeeze up against the folks already seated at one of the numerous round tables.

  “The older two are helping Bob at the bakery, and Amy’s with my mom.”

  “So you’re on your own?”

  Annabeth nodded and grinned. “I hardly know what to do with myself.”

  They achieved their goal and sank into chairs at the empty table. Only when they had settled in did they notice that several chairs on the other side of the table had already been tilted up and forward, the traditional church signal for reserved seats.

  Maria glanced around to see who might be coming their way. She heard a buzz near the doorway, a sure sign that a person or persons of interest had arrived, but she couldn’t see who it was. And then, like the Red Sea before the Israelites, the crowd parted, and Maria saw two familiar male figures accompanied by an unknown woman.

  “Who in the world are they?” Annabeth asked.

  Rev. Carson moved to greet the newcomers. The taller man looked every bi
t as arrogant as he had when he’d entered the five-and-dime demanding a fountain pen. Maria sighed. He hadn’t exactly demanded the pen in so many words, but everything from his facial expression to the way he set his shoulders demonstrated that he was accustomed to getting his way. Maria watched as he shook hands with the minister, his expression guarded. His friend’s face, though, appeared as open and eager as it had in the store that day. The stylishly dressed woman bore a marked resemblance to the cheerier of the men—his sister, no doubt-but her facial expression mirrored the taller man’s arrogance.

  “That’s James Delevan,” Annabeth said unexpectedly. Maria turned her head in surprise to look at her friend.

  “How do you know that?”

  “They were in the bakery last week, at least the two men were.”

  Maria made a wry face. “They came in the five-and-dime too. I’m surprised they’re still here.” More surprised than Annabeth could know. Maria thought the pair wouldn’t be back in Sweetgum for a good while. They were as interested in keeping the sale of the Munden farm secret as Maria was.

  “Look. Rev. Carson is introducing them to your sister,” Annabeth said.

  Daphne stood at the minister’s side, smiling and extending her hand. The blond man shook it vigorously, grinning from ear to ear. The arrogant one said something and shook her hand as well. The woman, though, simply nodded and grimaced, though to give her the benefit of the doubt, she might have been trying to smile, Maria thought. She chuckled. The stranger’s obvious snobbery was not going to get her very far in Sweetgum.

  “The line for the food has gone down. Let’s go get our plates,” Annabeth suggested.

  They stood and tipped their chairs up too before heading back across the room. It took several long minutes since both women stopped to chat with their friends and acquaintances. Maria supposed she was glad she’d decided to come after all. Since her father’s death, she’d spent every evening at home, sitting on the porch swing with a book or puttering in her greenhouse. She needed to socialize more.